


Perpetual Service

by yunmin



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Minor Character(s), Pegasus Crew, Pilots, Post-Mutiny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 18:33:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5101349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunmin/pseuds/yunmin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcia "Showboat" Case doesn't care about the mutiny on the Galactica. No matter who commands this battlestar, at 1930 hours she will take her pilots down to the deck, see them into their Vipers and Raptors, and relieve the CAP. Like she has done every day for the last six months. Like she will do every single day until they find a habitable planet. That's just the way life is. Only, as everyone picks up the pieces after the mutiny, Marcia finds it increasingly difficult to just do her job.</p>
<p>[A tale of Showboat, her pilots, and the other remaining Pegasus officer post-mutiny.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perpetual Service

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically a Showboat character study, particularly focused on the Mutiny-aftermath. I've always liked Showboat, even though she appears in only two episodes and we don't know much about her. But we know she survived New Caprica, and more interestingly, that she survived the Mutiny, as her name is the Pilot Duty boards post those episodes.
> 
> Fandom has always tended towards making Showboat a mutineer - I think because she's Pegasus crew - and I can see where it comes from. But canon suggests otherwise. And really, BSG post mutiny is fascinating when you start thinking about what it must have been like for the ordinary crew on the ship, so there's a lot of that in here, along with an added dose of Hoshi, who also sort of needs dealing with post-mutiny in a way the show never did. I hope you enjoy.

The first thing Marcia 'Showboat' Case hears about the mutiny on Galactica is the sound of gunfire when someone opens the hatch to her duty locker. The sharp, repeated fire raises her from slumber. She can hear shouting, and then someone dives in the room, seeking cover.

“Get out,” Marcia says, throwing her sheets back and hopping down from the top bunk. She doesn't know who the intruder is, but she doesn't care. The duty locker of the third shift pilots is a sacred space. They were on CAP til 0600, then in briefings until 0800. No one interrupts their sleep.

“They'll kill me,” he says.

“I don't care. No one comes in here. Out!” Marcia commands. Another burst of gunfire. She takes two steps towards the hatch and looks out the corridor. It's a warzone. Bullet holes grazing the wall, something that could be paint but is probably blood coating the floor. She looks back to the intruder. He's enlisted – rank of Specialist according to his pins – and his BDUs have dark flecks on the collar.

Marcia looks out on the disaster of a ship and elects to close the hatch. She locks it, just as one of her pilots draws their privacy curtain and sticks a sleepy head out. “What's going on, sir?”

“I'd like to know that myself,” Marcia replies. Another couple of heads pop up, most complaining. “Specialist, report.”

“Mutiny,” he says. “Lieutenant Gaeta took command of CIC at approximately 0900 hours. The Vice-President's declared Laura Roslin's administration invalid. The ship's descended into chaos.”

“Frak,” Pebbles curses from her rack.

Marcia agrees with the sentiment. “The senior staff?” she asks.

“No-one knows,” the Specialist says. “I saw Athena and Helo being taken at their quarters, but—”

“That's enough.”

“What do we do, sir?” Chrysanthemum asks.

Marcia looks around at her assembled pilots. Five of them have stuck their heads out, two sleep on. She hopes she doesn't regret her next statement. “We stay put. You've all still got to go and fly a nine hour CAP tonight. Unless anyone has any strong feelings on who we should support in the mutiny?” Blank faces. “Didn't think so. Get some sleep. I'll keep watch.”

The advantage of having a squadron mostly composed of rooks is that they don't question the orders of someone who's been in the service for fifteen years. Quiet descends on the room.

“Sir?” Marcia crosses the room, draws the curtain back on Chrysanthemum's rack, and looks at the concerned face of the boy who is only ten months past his eighteenth birthday. “Do you think the Admiral's dead?”

“I don't know, kid,” Marcia replies. She pulls up his blanket, and places a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Get some sleep.” She draws the curtain shut and doesn't think about the fact that she is old enough to be his mother.

At the end of the day, his fears don't matter. Marcia has lost commanding officers before. Belzen, Cain, Fisk, Garner, Shaw – the senior staff of the Pegasus are long dead. Stinger, too, died on the wasteland of New Caprica. And it didn't make a difference.

No matter who commands this battlestar, at 1930 hours Marcia will take her pilots down to the deck, see them into their Vipers and Raptors, and relieve the CAP. Like she has done every day for the last six months. Like she will do every single day until they find a habitable planet.

The mutiny is irrelevant.

.

Admiral Adama sounds the all clear at approximately 1530. Marcia shoos the Specialist, who's been taking refuge in the duty locker since his earlier intrusion, out, then turns into her rack.

She gets about half-an-hour of shut eye before being woken by Biscuit, demanding to know what went on.

Marcia tells what she knows – Gaeta and Zarek surrendered, Adama is back in command. Pebbles volunteers to go and find out more. It's not necessary. Marcia pulls on her duty blues, and says she'll find out herself. She leaves her pilots to go to the mess – if they can get there – and warns that they should probably carry their sidearms.

The reality is that Marcia doesn't care what went down. It still doesn't matter who commands this ship.

There are rumours in the air. Marcia passes Kelly in the hallway, in handcuffs. No one talks to her, but she can hear the whispers. She must have been the highest ranking officer not to pick a side. A passing ensign remarks that the casualty count has reached triple figures. His friend replies “I didn't know Gaeta had it in him.”

No one did.

But then she never thought Helena would shoot Jurgen either.

1930 rolls around and her pilots show up for briefing. The CAG – whoever that even is, these days – doesn't. Marcia looks at the abandoned duty roster, gives up, takes her pilots to the deck. She can't find Laird, or Tyrol, but Figurski finds her three Vipers and a Raptor and that'll have to do. She sends Pebbles, Jed and Hecate back to their bunks.

It's a foreign voice in her ear that sends them out into the black. It used to be Dualla, who often took the midnight watch, but she's dead. Now, it's usually Hoshi, whose voice is achingly familiar to Marcia; having called her home for three years on Pegasus before the attacks.

She wonders why he's not there.

A lot of the fighting was in CIC. But Hoshi knows to keep his head down – he learnt that lesson on the Pegasus. He does what he has to to survive. But Marcia hasn't checked the list of the dead. She doesn't want to know how many of the rebels were Pegasus crew, disgruntled at Adama's command.

It's only later, when they are called back home – a different voice on comms again, one Marcia vaguely recognises from the rec room – that she remembers. Hoshi and Gaeta were dating. Racetrack had only been making book on it for forever. And they'd still been together recently, Marcia thinks.

Frak.

.

After she returns from CAP, she's told that Adama wants to see her in his study. It's not a common occurrence, but Marcia obeys the order.

“Captain Case,” he says, looking weary. “Sit.”

Marcia takes the offered seat. Adama's desk is covered in personnel files. Gaeta's is on the top, execution order inside of it. She tries to look at the other names. Galactica's corridors are empty enough that the rebels must have formed a sizeable contingent.

“I'm told that you had no involvement in the mutiny,” Adama starts. “No one saw you take a shot, and the mutineers haven't claimed or disowned you.”

“I was in my rack,” Marcia says. “With seven of my pilots and an injured specialist taking cover.”

“I don't doubt your story.” Adama takes a drink. Marcia can't tell if it's water or liquor and hopes it's the former. “But given that most of the rebels were Pegasus people—”

“Lieutenant Gaeta was one of your men.” Marcia knows it's a mistake as she says it. The Admiral's face turns foul. “May I see the list of rebels?”

Adama slides over a long list of names. Felix Gaeta tops it, then there is admittedly Narcho, but the other masterminds – Racetrack, Skulls, Seelix – are all Galactica people. Former Pegasus crew makes up their fair share of the overall list, but this wasn't a Pegasus revolt against Galactica command.

It was a revolt by denigrated officers against a commander who failed to realise their value.

He has to realise that. He has to know just how much he has betrayed these people, in pursuing an alliance with the Cylons, without rhyme or reason or explanation to those who have faithfully served him for so long. But she can't say it. “Sir—”

“You are the most experienced pilot we have, Showboat,” Adama says. “Your squadron speaks very highly of you, LSO and deck staff respect you, and I'm not aware of a single incident that has happened on your watch. I need to know that you will continue to be an officer I can count on.”

“I'm a solider. I'll do my job,” Marcia says. It's not the answer Adama wants but he's done nothing to deserve her loyalty. “If that's all sir, I need to see to my pilots.” She stands up before he's cleared her, intent on making her escape.

“One more thing,” Adama says, grabbing a personnel file. “How well do you know Lieutenant Hoshi?”

“Louis Hoshi is a good man, sir.” Marcia attempts to hide her sigh of relief. If Adama is asking about him, he must be alive. And his name wasn't on the mutineers list. “A good man who saw his commanding officer shoot her XO for mutiny. I doubt he was involved.”

Adama raises an eyebrow. Marcia has no proof of what she says. Just a sneaking suspicion that Gaeta wouldn't have involved Hoshi, and that if he was involved, Adama would be dead. “He was intimately involved with one of the conspirators. I would think that merits some examination of his intentions.”

Marcia decides that informing Adama that Louis had also been intimately involved with Noel Allison back on Pegasus is unnecessary.

“With respect, sir, you don't have many officers left. I wouldn't try to damn those you do.”

She walks out the door before Adama summons up a response. She's done.

.

The next few days are chaos. The number of crew members shipped to the Astral Queen post-mutiny has necessitated additional Cylons on board. The deck crew are busy faffing with damage sustained to Galactica, so Marcia and her pilots end up responsible for their own Viper maintenance. And that's not counting the rearranging of the pilot rota.

She's lost Sledge and Biscuit's Raptor from her CAP – they've gone to covering Racetrack and Skull's shifts – and gained a Cylon heavy raider in their place. She'll probably lose Blackout to Helo before too long, to bolster that side of the duty roster. But Chrysanthemum is still flying her wing and Pebbles and Hecate are still bickering over which of them can out fly the Cylons and really, Marcia's life isn't that different to last week.

So it's a shock when, walking down the memorial hallway, to come across Hoshi and be starkly reminded of just how much things have changed.

He's pale, standing there, white knuckled grip on a photograph. Stepping closer, Marcia sees that he's stopped in front of Dee's picture, and the one in his hand is of Gaeta, and that his eyes are wet.

“You should put him up,” Marcia says.

Hoshi turns, blinking away the tears, and attempts to school his face into the professional mask he wears each day. “Captain Case,” he stutters. “Showboat—”

“Marcia,” she says softly.

“Marcia,” he repeats. It's probably the first time he's ever said her first name. “I don't know,” he admits. He holds the picture up, places it next to Dee's. “Does he really belong up here, after everything? Am I willing to give up one of the few mementos I have of him? Especially if someone just tears it down.”

The Hoshi in front of her now is the very opposite of the calm CIC officer Marcia is used to. “Louis,” she says, reaching up to press Gaeta's picture into the wall. He's smiling in it, hair short – it must be before New Caprica, and Marcia wonders why Hoshi has this picture. “You cared about him, right?” Hoshi nods. “Then he deserves to be here. He looks good next to Dee.”

“But Dee is next to Billy, and the President visits this section of the wall, and—” Hoshi turns, and Marcia slackens her grip on the picture, taking it from the wall. “I thought about putting him next to Kat, but that's where Kara Thrace's picture was, and he'd hate that, and I thought about putting him with Belzen and Cain, but he was never Pegasus crew.”

Marcia places a steadying hand on his shoulder. “That doesn't matter.” She glances to the Pegasus display, cobbled together out of the few photos that were rescued prior to the Pegasus's destruction. “If you feel he belongs there, that's where we put him. Besides, it's not like there's many of us left to object.”

She hands him back the picture. He takes it, thinks for a moment, then tucks it back into a pocket. “Maybe later,” Hoshi says. “When things have calmed down. When people can remember what a good man he was before all this.”

“He was a good man til the end,” Marcia says. “From what I heard.”

Hoshi turns to look at her, eyebrows narrowed, confusion written all over his face. But he must see something, because his features soften. “When Raptor 718 went missing, I told Racetrack that Felix had this fire in him about doing the right thing. And then when Lee Adama released the senior staff from the brig and told us what Felix did, I couldn't reconcile the man I loved with the man who had done those things."

He brings a hand up to his face. He's shaking. “But the more I think about it, the more I realise – that's why he did it. Because somehow, things have got so screwed up that Felix genuinely believed that what he was doing was the right thing. And maybe it was.” Hoshi ducks his head. “I just wish he'd have told me what he was planning. I could have told him mutiny wasn't the answer.”

“What would you have done if you'd have known?” Marcia asks. She defended him to Adama out of loyalty, and a suspicion that if Hoshi had been involved the entire thing would have run far smoother. But she's still not sure.

“I don't know,” he says. “Isn't that funny? I've spent so long thinking about it – what would I have done if Felix told me, if Noel had told me, if Racetrack had let me know – and I have no idea.” He wrings his hands. “I think I'd have turned them in,” he finally answers. “Not because I think they were wrong, or that Adama is right, but because Felix might still be alive if I had.”

Marcia looks at him, wide eyed, dark circles, the pale pallor of his skin, and thinks that she wants that too, because it's painful to see Hoshi – dependable, reliable Hoshi – this lost. “We can't change the past, no matter how much we might want to, Louis.”

She lays a hand on his shoulder, and watches as the dampness in his eyes grows until a tear drops down his face. He takes in a deep breath, as Marcia slides her hand along his back and rubs soothing circles into his back. “Sorry,” he mutters, leaning into her hold. “It's just— I should have known, should have seen, he hasn't been right since—” His next words are muffled as he attempts composure. Marcia doesn't care what he says. Everyone in the fleet has enough things to be screwed up over. “I should've known."

Maybe that's true. Marcia doesn't know either of them well enough to really know. But the blame for the mutiny does not lay at Hoshi's feet. So she holds him, wonders when she started caring this much, and prays.  
He raises his bowed head when a voice calls over the intercom, “Lieutenant Hoshi to CIC, repeat, Lieutenant Hoshi to CIC.”

“I have to go,” he says. He scrunches his eyes, wipes his tears away. He doesn't look any more presentable.

“Take a detour to the head,” Marcia advises. He nods, stepping away from her. “Louis.” He halts. “You know where my rack is, right? The pilot's third-shift duty locker?”

“Yes.”

“You're welcome there anytime.”

He nods, with a small smile. He's a communications officer, used to date a pilot – he knows he's been invited into a sacred space, and is grateful for it. If Marcia can bring him a small bit of peace it'll be worth every moment of her pilots' bitching.

She takes a closer look at the Pegasus wall on her way out. Admiral Cain stares at her, stern faced, next to a jovial picture of Jurgen Belzen, then one of his wife Rika and their three kids. There's enough space for another picture.

That evening, Marcia gets the picture from Felix's file from the master-at-arms, and pins the young eager soldier up next to the crew of a ship he never served on. Regardless of how anyone feels about his later actions, Felix Gaeta saved humanity countless times, and he deserves his remembrance.

.

Days following the mutiny turn into weeks. The political situation gets worse. Marcia ignores it, keeps her head down, and focuses on the search for a habitable planet.

Hoshi doesn't come by often. He's just too busy – he's working double shifts in the CIC trying to keep everything going. He confides in Marcia that he doesn't mind the work. It keeps his mind off everything else that's going on.

The pilot briefings are mostly full of Cylons these days. The Heavy Raiders have a vastly superior jump range, and therefore are more suited to the long-range recon missions scouting sectors. But human pilots are still needed – flying CAP, civilian shuttle runs – so Marcia and her crew keep showing up.

Marcia isn't properly qualified to fly a Raptor. She probably could, in an emergency, but they decide to keep her in a Viper. She argues with the brass to keep Chrysanthemum as her wing-man, but she loses everyone else to the shuffling rota.

Three days later Jed is killed in a shoot out with a rogue Cylon raider when the alert Vipers don't get there quick enough.

Marcia curses. There's no one left to grieve. Not enough pilots to spare for a wake as they once did. Sledge and Biscuit are out on long-range recon and aren't expected back for two days. Pebbles signs herself up for a shift on all night CAP. Hecate manages to bribe the deck gang into giving her a bottle of alcohol from their still, and breaks it open in the duty locker that night.

She lets them have their moment, even though some of them should be out flying soon. Blackout and Hecate share the bottle between them, occasionally passing it to Chrysanthemum. Hotdog pops by to give his condolences, but he's balancing Nicky on his hip and declines the bottle when given. Hoshi turns up at midnight, looking utterly exhausted, takes the last swig and stumbles into the empty rack which is pretty much his at this point.

Hecate leaves twenty minutes later, heading down to the portside hanger with the intention of hitting something. Blackout takes five minutes then follows her, planning a diversion past CIC to let her calm down.  
Chrysanthemum is unsteady on his feet, grasping at a chair for support. “Get yourself a glass of water,” Marcia advises.

He nods, disappears off to the head, returns looking a little steadier. He pulls a chair up next to Marcia's rack. “Thank you, sir."

“For what?” He can't be thanking her for suggesting a glass of water – Chrysanthemum might be a sap but he's not that bad.

“For always having my back,” he says. “And letting me fly your wing. I feel a lot better shooting out into that black knowing you're there.”

“That's what a wing-man's for, Chrysanthemum,” Marcia replies. Pebbles had made a sharp curse about the Cylons not having the Colonials' backs earlier, which had probably inspired this.

“No, no, Showboat – it's more than that, I know it. I'd be dead without you keeping me with you.” He makes a vague hand gesture, and hits the side of the rack with a clang. Marcia's eyes dart to Hoshi's rack, but he hasn't stirred.

“Come on. Let's get you into your rack.” Marcia slides out of hers, and he stumbles across to his. The glass is left on the table. Chrysanthemum's already down to his tanks, and strips off his BDU pants before clambering into the rack.

Marcia pulls his singular blanket over him. He closes his eyes, letting his worries wash away. Youth is written in every corner of his face. Nineteen is too young to be on active duty in a warzone, Marcia thinks, as she brushes a hand lightly over his forehead and smooths back his hair.

And yet she'll still send him out to fight tomorrow.

.

When Adama issues the call for volunteers, Marcia isn't really sure she cares either way. But she's standing on the port side of the line, and there she will stay. The mission stands a better chance of success if they have enough experienced pilots.

Blackout stands firm too, as does Sledge. Biscuit, who stepped over to starboard when the crowd separated, takes one look at his co-pilot and decides that he'll stay with her. As he crosses Pebbles slips across to starboard. Hecate's standing there too. Marcia knows Hecate – too foolhardy to back down if she'd been on the port side, but she won't actively volunteer to go on a suicide mission.

Meanwhile Chrysanthemum is still at her side, face pale. “Go,” Marcia whispers, nudging him gently. “You heard what Adama said. This isn't the place for you. Go.”

She won't lead him to his death. Not like this. But he is frozen in place, totally unsure of his decision. So Marcia gives him another shove, enough to move him off his feet and starting over the line, where Pebbles and Hecate wait for him. They'll keep him safe.

And then Laura Roslin makes her way up the deck, each step precarious, and Marcia realises just how far humanity has fallen.

The hours that follow are frantic; moving supplies off Galactica and onto the Baseship, getting a plan ready for attack, sending out scouting missions. Adama has extended clemency to the mutineers and is taking volunteers from their ranks, so a couple of Raptors come back from the Astral Queen to bolster the numbers.

They'll need them. They have enough to crew the Galactica, but only barely. It'll be tough going. And if they fail, and don't come back, whoever has command of the Baseship is going to have the same problem, scouting for a habitable planet with half a crew. Though she's not sure who it'll be, given that everyone with command experience is either essential to the mission or dead.

Marcia's boxing up the pilots rec room when Hoshi finds her. In retrospect, she shouldn't be surprised to see the Admiral's stars on his collar. He's the obvious choice. The only choice, really. “Congratulations,” she says.

Hoshi squirms. Marcia suddenly remembers him having turned down Belzen's offer to help him earn a promotion years ago. “Thanks,” he says, looking uncomfortable. “Look, there's something I wanted to ask you.”

“What?” Marcia asks.

“I need a CAG,” Hoshi blurts. Marcia looks up. “I know there are pilots who didn't volunteer, and there are the Cylons, but I need someone who knows me and knows their pilots and stands a chance of being able to keep order. And if Galactica doesn't come back, I need someone who'll be able to keep us flying and find us a planet.”

“Hecate's shown a lot of promise, if some slightly dismal decision making in her personal life,” Marcia suggests. “Or you could pull Noel from Astral Queen if you needed to. I didn't see him amongst the volunteers.”

“I don't want suggestions, Marcia,” Hoshi says. He fidgets from foot to foot. “I want you to be the CAG.”

Marcia halts. “I'm needed here, Louis.”

Hoshi shakes his head. “I spoke to Adama. And Hotdog – they can make do without you. You'd be more valuable on the Baseship.” He pauses. “Not that you aren't valuable here. Just—”

She sees in him now the same vulnerability she saw following Gaeta's death. And that's the thing. Gaeta, Dualla – they need them here now, to take some of the weight off Hoshi's shoulders, to prove that he doesn't have to do this almighty task alone. But they are dead, and so the responsibility falls to Marcia. “I'll do it.”

Visible relief washes over his face. “Thank you.”

She just hopes she can be enough.

.

Marcia's been on the Baseship a handful of times, but it's never been staffed by Colonial Officers or decorated with furnishings salvaged from the Galactica before.

Add to the fact that she's walking beside the Admiral of the Fleet and the President of the Colonies, and it makes for a strange day. Hoshi also revealed on the Raptor over that he doesn't intend to pick an XO until he knows the outcome of Galactica's mission, which puts Marcia technically as his second.

This is going to be the longest twelve hours of Marcia's life.

The fact is that even if Galactica does make it back, the crew will be severely diminished and Galactica herself is done for. And the fleet will still need protecting, and a home still needs finding. So Marcia excuses herself, asks a Six where they've set up the pilots' briefing room, and goes to assemble something resembling a duty roster.

An Eight who's taken the name Reye joins her – she's the one most familiar with the search for a habitable planet. Reye spends ten minutes explaining the scouting of separate sectors before Marcia tells her to get on with it; she doesn't have any Colonial pilots to spare for the search.

For now, she moves Hecate up to squadron leader, Pebbles on her wing, and assigns them a heavy raider and a couple more Colonial pilots. That'll be second shift. It's the third she's worried about – the one she usually leads. But while Hoshi is counting on her as command second, she can't really be flying CAP.

But they are a unified front now. So she asks Reye who her best Cylon pilot is – a Six named Astria, it turns out – and calls her down, explains the particulars of being a squadron leader. She assigns a couple of Colonial pilots, Chrysanthemum amongst them, to her, then leaves her to pick form the Cylons.

That job done, Marcia leaves the briefing room. She intends to head to the deck, but she's still trying to get used to the winding corridors of the Baseship, and ends up wandering. There's a petty officer going round with signs in hand, attempting to prevent the problem she's just encountered. After thirty minutes of getting nowhere, Marcia asks a Two for directions and gets herself an escort down to the deck.

That is still the same place of chaos it has always been, though the Vipers are now being worked on by tall blonde women rather than the usual knuckledraggers in jumpsuits. Hecate's busy bickering with Figurski about the Viper she's been assigned, while Chrysanthemum is standing in awe of the Sixes.

“Sir.” Pebbles snaps off a salute when she notices Marcia's presence, and then elbows Chrysanthemum into doing the same.

“At ease,” Marcia says, returning the salute. She'd got them out that habit when they were hers, but they're used to giving the CAG due respect, so it's not surprising they've reverted to old habits. “You going to be alright flying Hecate's wing?”

“I'll keep her in check, Showboat,” Pebbles replies, glancing over to her friend. “She'll be a good leader.”

Marcia smiles. “Get your first CAP done before you say that.”

Pebbles nods. Hecate's given up with whatever fight she was having, and is standing aside her Viper, ready in her flight suit with helmet in hands. “Better get going, sir,” Pebbles says.

She doesn't wait for Marcia's dismissal before dashing off. That's good. Her kids are learning to stand on their own feet. She watches Pebbles and Hecate exchange words before Hecate gathers the rest of her squadron for a last minute briefing.

“You're going to be alright flying with the Cylons, right kid?” Marcia asks of Chrysanthemum.

“I'd feel better if you were out there with me,” Chrysanthemum admits. “But yeah, I don't have a problem with it.”

“I've assigned you and Kingston together,” Marcia says. “He's a good pilot. And the Six, Astria, we've flown with her before on a couple of CAPs.”

“I'll be fine, sir.”

Marcia looks at him. Somehow, he stands taller on the baseship. He'd grown up in the fleet – only fifteen years old when the Cylons attack and had been filled with tales of Galactica's heroic pilots that had spread across the other ships. So, on Galactica, he'd always been trying to live up to an ideal that didn't exist. Coming to the baseship has freed him from that, and he looks less like a boy and more like a man.

“That you will, Ensign.”

That's another thing, Marcia thinks as she walks away. If this is it, they're going to have to start talking promotions. Chrysanthemum, with almost a year of flying under his belt, deserves to be a Junior Lieutenant. Hecate should be a Captain as a squadron leader. And, well – Marcia's been a Captain for seven years now. She's earned the promotion to Major in combat time alone.

But that is a task for tomorrow, a task for when Galactica fails to return. For now, Marcia plans on finding her way up to CIC and watching how Hecate does in command. Relieve Hoshi from duty so he can go study the star maps, and maybe talk to their new president about conscripting a civilian navigator.

Marcia's here now, and she'll play her part in guiding the human race to earth in any way she can.

.

It turns out that the Universe doesn't need Marcia's service. She can't quite believe it, but she has two feet planted on solid ground. Galactica had done the impossible – rescued the child Hera, defeated the Cylons, and then jumped into the orbit of a habitable planet.

There had been a tense moment, when they'd technically been over the clock, but Hoshi had held them there. Another five minutes and the Raptor had jumped onto DRADIS and the CAP had flown out to meet it.

This planet is beyond anything they could dream of. Habitable, teaming with life, enough space for the human life that has just begun to evolve on the planet as well as the thirty-eight thousand people in the fleet. They can and will make a home here.

Marcia has a pack containing her few remaining possessions lying at her feet. There's not much – a change of clothes, the blanket she's rescued from her bunk three times now – but she'll cling to it the way she clung to her Viper. She watches as the civilians clamber out of their crampt ships and out to the wilds, stumbling towards Hoshi, Romo Lampkin and Lee Adama, who are coordinating the diaspora.

There are so many people, but Marcia can only think of those who didn't make it. Those who fell in the final battle; Sledge, Biscuit, Skulls, Racetrack, as well as everything else. Jed. Kat. Belzen. Cain. Stinger. Gaeta. Dualla. There are just too many names to think about.

She still has some of her family left. Blackout survived. Hecate, Pebbles and Chrysanthemum were all safe with her and the civilian fleet. A blanket amnesty offer has been made to the mutineers. There are whispers that Noel Allison is going to defy Lee and build a city. That he's smuggled enough resources off the ships, now all he needs is people.

Marcia's sure he'll find him. There's enough disgruntled former military and trusted civilians to build something bigger than the tiny settlements that Lee proposes. Hecate and Pebbles, she thinks they'll go. Chrysanthemum is a toss up. Hoshi won't. He supports the plan. On this planet, he looks self-assured, confident, and younger than Marcia can ever remember him.

She's still trying to work out what she will do. But watching the terrified people make their way off the ships, with faces full of hope mingling with uncertainty, she knows where her place is. Thought this planet is a gift beyond they could have hoped for, life will still be tough for civilians. If Marcia joins one of these groups of humans, one of the ones who knows nothing about how to combat the dangers that lie ahead, she can do some real good.

"Captain." Chrysanthemum nods his head as he walks up next to her, with his pack hoisted on his shoulder. "You down with Narcho's plan?"

Marcia shakes her head. "I think I have something else in mind. Not that there's anything wrong with Noel's approach..." She looks down at the people moving in the valley, setting off on their long journeys under the watchful eye of Romo Lampkin.

"You want to join them," Chrysanthemum finishes. "There's nothing wrong with that, Showboat."

"You know, I've been thinking," Marcia says. "We're not military anymore. Nothing to protect, no articles to defend. Civilians. We should probably start using first names, Chris."

Chris scrunches up his face. "That's going to take some getting back used to, Marcia."

She makes a face of distaste. "That is strange," she mutters. "It's odd, we never expected Chrysanthemum to stick. We were sure that someone was going to tell us that it was too long to say, or too difficult to spell. And then no one ever did and by the time we realised no one was going to it was too late so – I guess this is my apology for it."

"I did wonder why I was the only one with a callsign longer than my name. Not that it matters. I got used to it." He smiles.

Marcia smiles back. "Yeah. We all did." She picks up her pack, hoists it high onto her shoulder. "Well, I'm going to see if there's a group that could do with a former pilot. You have a good life, Chris. You deserve it."

She walks away, scrambling down the hill to where Hoshi is still dividing up the groups. But there is a rush of feet, someone skidding behind her, and she turns to see Chrysanthemum in a heap at the bottom of the hill.

"You think they'll be space for the two of us?" he asks. Marcia leans down to offer him a hand up. "See, I don't think I could do without you watching my back in some way."

"You'd do fine," Marcia says, watching Chris brush himself off. "But, I guess I wouldn't mind the company. Come on then."

He takes step beside her, striding across the plains. A quiet word with Hoshi secures them a place in one of the groups shortly departing – civilians, the lot of them. Just the sort of people who could benefit from some former military.

Their leader welcomes Marcia gladly, recognising her callsign, gives a nod to Chris – who is already off to try and strap some of the heavy bundles more securely to people's backs. It'll be a hard life on this planet, but Marcia thinks they'll survive it.

And there is one good thing about Lee Adama's plan. All the demons of the past – everything they've done up to this point – was left on the ships. The entire point of the exercise is to stop the cycle.

Marcia takes her place beside a girl, of seven or so, and hears her chatter about hopes for the new world – a place to run and laugh and play – and thinks that they might finally have made the right call.


End file.
